One of the most unforgettable events in my life occurred when I was a victim of the hijacking of Kuwait Airways flight 221 on December 4, 1984, as I was traveling to Pakistan with my mother. There were twenty five minutes left in landing when the terrifying reality began. Only one security guard had boarded the airplane who seated himself in first-class where he could keep an eye on the cockpit door. My mother and I were seated across the aisle from the guard when we saw two men throw themselves onto the security guard. As we saw the guard struggling to reach the revolver in his waistband, a shot thundered into the cabin, and he fell. I could smell and feel death just inches away, as I witnessed the blood gushing out of his thigh.
Concurrently, a hijacker clenching a hand grenade burst into the flight deck shouting, “Teheran. . . Teheran!” Captain Clark, the pilot, took one look at him and switched radio channels to the frequency for Iran’s air-defense center. Now, Clark anticipated that the fuel supply would be stretched to its limit.
The hijackers commanded a stewardess to make an announcement over the intercom which read, “I want everyone seated in their places. If any of our orders are disobeyed, those responsible will be shot immediately.” Shortly thereafter, the airplane landed in swirling snow in Mehrabad. The next announcement was, “All American and Kuwaiti citizens must identify themselves at once.” Instantly, the hijackers started collecting passports. Since my mother and I were two out of the six American citizens on the plane, my mother was terrified for our lives.
One American citizen was forced to introduce himself on the intercom. As he was talking, the hostages heard shouts, and suddenly there was a “pop.” Later it was revealed that the hijackers had shot the American citizen and thrown his body out of the airplane. As the ambulance arrived and was escorting him to the hospital, the American died. One of the other American citizens, who was close friends with the one who had just died, went numb in shock. One of the hijackers pulled him aside and warned him, “Your friend is killed. Your other friend is next. And you will be third.”
Concurrently, the security guard who had been shot in the thigh received assistance from a stewardess and a doctor on the plane. The guard had begun to shiver violently while experiencing a heart attack. Therefore, the doctor secretively handed him Valium pills which seemed to ease the spasms.
When all of the passengers were seated, the hijackers ordered everyone to lower their heads. They continued collecting passports then, counting the passports and the hostages. Soon they began to realize that there were more hostages than passports collected, so they stepped up their efforts to retrieve the passports. My mother suspected the hijackers were searching for Americans and Kuwaitis, so she kept our passports. She was frightened out of her mind because if they discovered we were Americans, we most likely would have been killed.
While the government of Iran ordered for the release of at least the women and children, the hijackers demanded that the airplane be refueled. The Iranian government agreed, but it planned to deceive the hijackers by pulling the fuel truck close to the airplane and pretending as if the plane was being refueled. Approximately forty women and children were freed after two drawn-out days, of which my mother and I were a part. As we were disembarking, my mother realized she still had our passports. In fear of being searched, she threw the passports into the bag. With me clenched in her arms, she ran as fast as she could down the stairs without glancing back.
These events are my earliest memories. Although I was only three years old, I remember some of it with vivid clarity. I remember sitting in my seat playing with a small purse and some candy as the hijacking was occurring. I was placing the candy in the purse and then taking it out, as young children often do. Before long, the hijackers ordered all of the passengers to move to the back of the airplane filling in every seat. As my mother reached for her purse and me, one of the hijackers pushed my mother down the aisle of the airplane. Hugging me, my mother went running down the aisle ignited by fear and the force of the hijacker’s push. I remember this incident clearly. Beyond this incident, I also recollect other seemingly minor, insignificant details, such as the colors of my coat, my mother’s coat, and the hijacker’s clothing.
My mother breathed a sigh of relief after we had been freed. When we were assigned hotel rooms near the airport, my mother rushed to call home to inform my family in America and Pakistan that everything had turned out for the better (at least for us). I remember standing, gripping my mother’s knees and crying. Whenever I think of that time, I can still feel the constant, unending worry I carried in my heart that day. I recall just standing there tugging at my mother as if wanting to cry, “Something terrible is going to happen.” Yet, it already had happened.
Meanwhile, the hijacking was far from being over. In fact, many diplomats were brutally injured to the point where they were forced to scream uncontrollably. This ordeal finally came to an end after six long, torturous days when the Iranian police force bombarded the airplane with gas grenades. However, my emotional and spiritual ordeal began just after my mother and I were released. I was terrified of black haired, fair skinned men for many years afterwards, one of them being my own uncle in Pakistan. Whenever I would notice a man approaching, especially a fair complexioned bearded one, I would mutter, “Man is coming. . . Man is going to push.” My mother was surprised when I revealed to her that I remembered the hijacking, for she thought I would not remember since throughout the actual hijacking, I acted as if there was nothing to be worried about.
Even now, officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) continue to visit my mother and I every few years asking us if we can recognize suspected hijackers in the hundreds of photos they show us. This forces me to reminisce, for I am still amazed at how close I came to death. What I do remember of the hijacking still haunts me to this day. Yet, I know that with the help of God, I have become a stronger person after withstanding this difficult trial. It is truly an unforgettable experience that I have remembered for much of my life and that I will remember for the rest of my life.
Written by Maryam in 1998